


Admittance

by TeamAlphaQ



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I Am Dying In Rare Pair Hell, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamAlphaQ/pseuds/TeamAlphaQ
Summary: When he'd wandered out to the outskirts of Garreg Mach, Linhardt had been looking forward to sunshine, his books, and probably a lovely nap.He most certainly wasn't expecting bandits, a thunderstorm, and everything else that followed. A shame the only person who knew where he was happened to be Hubert. And what reason wouldthatman have to come looking for him.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	Admittance

**Author's Note:**

> I am suffering in rare pair hell. I can count the number of fics I've found for this pairing on one hand.
> 
> Fuck it, no one can stop me.
> 
> Enjoy

It was raining,  _ as if the day needed to get any worse. _

Squinting through the downpour, insides jumping and magic hovering on his fingertips, Linhardt resisted the urge to take another nervous step back. Honestly, there was no advantage to retreating further, there was a pillar inches from his back, giving only scant protection from the storm above him. Though the lack of sun prevented obvious shadows from forming, the young bishop felt like he was caught in its looming presence.

Before him, the other figures in the storm moved in closer, watching him with eyes he couldn’t make out through the water pelting down around him.

Limply, a lock of emerald hair fell into his eyes, leaving a fresh trail of cold water in its wake. It obscured his vision somewhat, and he fought the urge to brush it away. Involuntarily, a thick shiver coursed down his spine, causing his body to jerk violently against his will. As expected, the sudden movement startled the people surrounding him, and there came the unmistakable rustling of weapons being readied and at least one arrow being notched.

Though it hardly needed to be said, he shouldn’t have been here. There was no good reason for  _ him _ of all people to be wandering around the outskirts of Garreg Mach without bringing company or making it clear where he was going.  _ Of course, if I had brought others, that would have defeated the purpose of it.  _ Because  _ really _ what had been the chances of running into bandits when they hadn’t sighted  _ any _ near the monastery in weeks.

The storm was just adding insult to injury. Linhardt had been under the impression that there was nothing but sunshine for the next few days, but as the apt saying went, when it rained, it poured.

He’d come out here to study alone, to paw through the newest book he’d found on crest history, and perhaps to catch some sleep under the pleasant afternoon sun. It was something he did quite often, though usually he was satisfied with finding a secluded corner of the monastery instead of going out of his way to find peace and quiet. But he’d been restless, and perturbed by the frequency of interruptions he’d been coming across lately.

Traveling out here had been his way of finding a much needed respite.

Now, he was alone, surrounded, and very  _ very _ cold. And on top of that, his books were completely ruined.  _ So much for napping... _

“Why don’t you just come down from there and we’ll let you go?” Quickly turning his head to face the voice, Linhardt peered through the rain, trying to determine which of the bandits was talking to him. From his position atop the decorative dias, with pillars and rain blocking his vision, it could have been anyone who’d spoken. “Just forget you ever saw us, and we won’t have to kill you.”

Resisting the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes to clear the water from them, the bishop called, “Well in that case, why don’t you just move along now.” Though his tone was light, his mouth was drawn down into a tight line, and his shoulders were hunched defensively. “If you don’t intend to kill me, then I’m sure it doesn’t matter where I go as long as I don’t follow you.”

One of the bandits who was closest to him clutched the sword in his hand tighter and snarled. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands.”

Swiping his tongue over his lips nervously, tasting cool rainwater as he did, Linhardt called back, “It wasn’t a demand, I was merely suggesting.”

He knew why they wanted him to move. Technically from up here, he had a slight advantage. Even though there were far more of them, enough that the rain obscured their true numbers, his position was more easily defensible, and he had magic. The most range they had was an archer at the edges of his field of view.

If he came down, they could swarm him easily. Considering how ruthless the bandits in these parts tended to be, there was little chance of him being allowed to leave with his life. Linhardt was fairly confident he could have taken a couple of enemies on his own, maybe even a half dozen with proper visibility and a terrain advantage, but this was neither of those things. He was outnumbered, underprepared, and surrounded. 

_ Goddess this is terrible luck… _

“Well, if we’re  _ suggesting _ things now, then  _ I  _ suggest you walk your pretty ass down here before we come up there and drag you down.” That voice sounded more commanding, probably the leader of these bandits, though he couldn’t be sure. Whoever it was, the threat was obvious, and the slight leer in the tone made his skin crawl.

Without thinking, Linhardt took that final step back. As his back hit the pillar and the runoff streaming down the stone soaked into his already sodden clothing, the bishop let his eyes slide closed for a moment. It wasn’t often that he bothered to regret his decisions, after all, second guessing himself was work, and it left him exhausted. But at that moment, he definitely regretted something.

“Don’t you think this is a lot of trouble for just one person?” he called, not really caring if they heard him or not. “Honestly, I think you should be more worried about getting out of this rain than bothering me.”

“We’ll decide what we worry about,” that same voice said, words distorted by the storm. “I think you’re a  _ fine _ thing to bother with.”

It was almost amusing. He’d never had a problem defending himself, despite how little he enjoyed conflict, and had survived countless battles and skirmishes before. Linhardt had always expected his end would come either in the course of his research, or on a battlefield surrounded by his comrades, matched against hopeless odds.

But no, he was going to die here, alone, wet, and cold, within view of a whole monastery of people who could have helped.

_ They probably won’t even notice I’m missing for several days. _ Presumably, the professor would notice first, when he didn’t turn up for yet another of their lectures. Maybe some of his fellow Black Eagles would clue into his absence eventually, but even that felt like a vain hope. It wasn’t as though he went out of his way to spend time around them. If anything, he avoided people in general. Company could be so  _ troubling. _

Well, perhaps it wasn’t  _ entirely _ true that no one knew where he was. Unbidden, Linhardt recalled the sharply angled face and cutting words of the person he’d run into as he’d left Garreg Mach that morning. Hubert hadn’t bothered to parse words as he’d informed the young bishop of exactly what he thought of the man wandering out of the monastery when they had a lecture that afternoon. 

_ Of course he’d criticize me, _ Linhardt thought, an odd smile crawling over his lips despite the seriousness of his situation.  _ When does he ever hold his tongue? Does he even know how? _

Uninvited, memories of their conversation crept into his mind, momentarily blocking out the jeering of the bandits and the storm crackling overhead.

_ “It would do you good to  _ apply _ yourself to your studies for once.” Hubert’s visible eye was narrowed in distaste palpable enough that it threatened to infringe on Linhardt’s good mood. Or at least, it would have if the bishop had ever cared one way or another what people thought of him. _

_ “I am applying myself,” he responded, holding up his satchel of books, a smile quirking at soft lips. “I just need a better studying environment.” _

_ “Has shutting yourself up in the library for days at a time really not worked well enough for you?” the taller student had mocked, his own mouth crooking into a thin sneer. “Who could have ever foreseen that.” _

_ Linhardt’s smile widened, enjoying the banter despite himself. “It probably  _ would _ be the ideal place to study, but recently, a certain mage has taken to breathing down my neck at all times of day, and it’s interfering with my concentration.” The look his words put on Hubert’s face were just icing on the cake, and he had to hold his breath to stifle the delighted fluttering in his chest. “I wonder, who could  _ that _ individual be?” _

Looking back on it, Linhardt was able to admit without caveat that talking like that with Hubert was fun, the subtle back and forth they had was enjoyable. Even now, the memory of their conversation warmed him slightly, warding off the pervasive chill that flowed through him in waves.  _ Now is really not the time to be thinking about him... _

There was the sound of footsteps squelching through mud and Linhardt’s eyes flew open. Instinctively, magic began to twirl around his fingers in the unmistakable lines of a Nosferatu spell as he honed in on the bandit who had decided to approach him. “I would advise you not come any closer,” he called, struggling to keep his breathing even. “I’d hate to hurt you.”

As lightning illuminated the faces of the figures surrounding him, Linhardt was able to count their numbers. From what he glimpsed, there were no more than twenty of them all told. He could see their armor was shoddy at best, and their weapons were old, uncared for. If he’d had even one other person with him, he would have been fine.

Regrettably, it was just him.  _ Alone. _

Unintentionally reinforcing this sentiment, several more of the bandits stepped forward, ignoring his warning completely as it seemed to dawn on them just how defenseless he really was. From somewhere within the storm, the leader mockingly asked, “You don’t want to hurt anyone? Spare me,  _ please, _ you’re pulling on my heart strings.”

Another piped up, in a high and grating voice. “Does that mean you’re going to come peacefully?”

“I assure you, there is nowhere I’d like to go with any of you,” the bishop responded, the warmth of the holy magic lessening the chill in his numb fingers, if only slightly. “Though,” he continued, at a volume that was only meant for himself. “I suppose I should thank you for such a polite offer.”

There was a smile on his face, but it didn’t even begin to reach his eyes. Once again, he found himself thinking of his conversation with Hubert, and the sheer  _ irony _ of it in retrospect.

_ “You are not the only one with research to conduct in that library, Linhardt,” Hubert informed him, voice clipped and tight. “I assure you,  _ no one _ has  _ any _ desire to follow you around. Least of all myself.” _

_ Knowing deep down that the statement was true, but unwilling to just  _ say _ so, the bishop had bowed his head slightly before letting out a chuckle. “You say that. I  _ hear _ that, and yet here you are, following me.” There was simple pleasure in the way Hubert stiffened, reacting at once to the insinuation of his words.  _ He’s so uptight, so easy to tease… __

_ It was unfortunate that Hubert didn’t see it like Linhardt did. Sapphire eyes glittering with mischief, the man asked, “Who are you to tell me where I should and shouldn’t go.” _

_ “I am simply looking out for the future of the Empire,” the mage stated, the muscles of his jaw tensing up. “Lady Edelgard cannot be expected to  _ babysit _ everyone in her house, therefore it falls to me to be sure everyone is working hard.” His mouth tightened further, and an indiscernible emotion flitted through his visible eye. “If something unfortunate were to happen to you because you had spent your days at the academy lazing about, it would be most-” _

Of course it had to do with her, it  _ always _ had to do with her.

_ His good mood was instantly soured, much more effectively than any number of glares from Hubert could have done. _

_ “Inconvenient, yes yes, I’m sure something happening to me would cause her  _ so much trouble. _ ” It was almost too easy to conceal the resentment that wandered into his tone. _

_ “Considering your future position in the Empire,” the dark mage said, entirely serious. “Yes, it would be inconvenient.”  _

_ Waving off Hubert’s words easily, Linhardt drawled through a yawn, “Spare me Hubert, I’m the last person who needs or wants your coddling.” Maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but the reason behind the man’s worry bittered it for the bishop. _

_ Naturally, the effect of his pointed comment was instant as Hubert ruffled, much like an offended bird. “That is ridiculous, I am  _ not-”

_ “Then leave me to my own business.” Slyly, the bishop met the intensely pale green of the man’s gaze and asked, innocently, “Besides, what could possibly happen to me that’s so bad you have to worry?” _

Of course now, as he looked out over the gathered bandits, watching helplessly as they continued to steadily close in around them, Linhardt realized it didn’t have to be something unimaginably horrible for it to be deadly.

Admittedly, if he could have gone back to that moment, it wouldn’t have been to listen to Hubert and refrain from wandering out of the monastery, but instead to ask the man if he actually cared what happened to Linhardt, or if he only showed concern out of a sense of duty.

Probably, it was the latter.

_ Hubert crossed his arms and glowered down at Linhardt. If looks could kill, the bishop was sure that no amount of holy magic could have saved him from the scathing expression he was currently being treated to. But as it was, even Hubert’s scowls were harmless, and Linhardt easily stood against it, the easy expression on his face never faltering. _

_ Charged energy crackled in the air between them as they maintained eye contact and tried to casually stare the other down. Linhardt did so with a smirk, Hubert; with his lips twitching in a dangerously growing smile that was more threatening than a glare. It was a contest of wills, and neither man seemed willing to give ground. _

_ Just this was enough to get under Linhardt’s skin, though he knew it was in a different way than it was getting under Hubert’s. For the mage, this was likely just an irritation. For him, it made his pulse quicken, and the nape of his neck prickle with heated energy. _

_ Nearby, someone cleared their throat. _

_ Whether the sound had been directed at them or not didn’t matter, the tension between them broke easily, like a burst bubble. Grudgingly, the dark mage relented. Letting out an irritable breath, Hubert quickly looked away before settling on demanding, “At least tell me where you’re going.” _

_ “Just to the outskirts,” Linhardt responded, never missing a beat. “Not even a mile away from the monastery, right at the edge of the ravine. I’ll be absolutely fine.” _

_ For a moment, Hubert stood there, mouth slightly open and eyes searching the bishop’s face, as though he had more to say, but then he snapped his lips closed and turned, his demeanor becoming stony once more. “If you fall asleep out there and a demonic beast eats you, I can assure you, I will neither mourn nor be surprised.” _

Though there were a million other things of more importance at the moment to be thinking about, Linhardt couldn’t help but wonder what Hubert had been about to say before he’d turned away. It couldn’t have been anything important, the mage generally didn’t have much to say to him at all. 

Still… 

They’d been spending more time in each other’s company lately, whether by coincidence or something else, and the bishop knew he was taking advantage of their new proximity, even if he claimed it was a distraction. Wherever he went, he seemed to find Hubert. And though he was loath to admit it aloud, Linhardt didn’t entirely mind when he was awoken from a nap by the pointed clearing of a throat and a piercing green gaze.

Maybe, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he had become a little  _ too _ interested in Hubert lately, in a way that strayed dangerously into the territory of  _ not okay. _ After all, the thoughts that ran through his head when he watched Hubert weave magic, or when he caught the man in the sauna, definitely weren’t appropriate things to be thinking about in regards to a fellow classmate.

If he was to put a single word to it, he would have called it unrequited.

Unrequited what? Well, that was up for interpretation.

Regrettably, much like all the other things in his life he was about to leave unfinished, Linhardt supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Hubert could gloat about how he’d been right when he’d said something bad was going to happen to him, and Linhardt could finally take a nap that he couldn’t be woken from. A win win, really.

“C’mon lad, maybe we’ll spare you if you have something of value to give us,” one of the closer bandits called, lips pulled back into an ugly sneer.

“If he’s from the academy,” another called from somewhere towards the back. “I’ll bet he’s rich! He probably has all kinds of stuff.”

_ You know, if I’d run into anyone but Hubert, there might actually be help coming, _ Linhardt thought, the idea skittering across his mind without his permission.  _ Ah, I have wonderful luck... _

“I’m afraid I don’t carry  _ all kinds of stuff _ on me.” Though responding to them did nothing to help his cause, Linhardt couldn’t help himself. “Typically, I keep my valuables where thieves aren’t going to steal them.” It was better than standing here in silence, just listening to them mock and deride him. Like hyenas laughing at their prey before going for the throat.

“Well then,” the bandit captain reasoned, rolling his shoulders and brandishing his blade with a smile. “I guess we’ll just have to take you instead.”

In a flash, they charged him.

The next few seconds went very fast. In a swift, sweeping motion, Linhardt drew his fingers through the pouring rain in a glowing sigal, before sending a bolt of shimmering holy magic streaking towards the nearest target. There was a cry of pain, and the bandit collapsed to the ground, dead, as the bishop’s body was filled with what vitality he’d been able to pull from the spell.

Then they were upon him.

Under the crack of lightning and the crash of thunder, Linhardt desperately wove his magic, struggling to hold his own against the onslaught of bodies rushing him. The first few attacks he dodged. Even in the rain, he knew the gleam of a blade or the rush of a fist well enough to get out of the way. And with every attack they launched at him, he threw back spells of his own, battering the bandits closest to him away.

Another attacker dropped, but it wasn’t enough. A different man filled the empty space swiftly. Usually, Linhardt was privileged enough to enjoy the subtle mercies of being kept away from the front lines of a battle. Though he still hated the fighting, he’d learned to appreciate the fact his professor didn’t expect him to rub his face in the blood and mud like some of his other classmates did. Right now however, there was no retreating, there was no gaining a better vantage, or drawing back so he could more easily see who he was aiming at.

Caught in the thick of it as he was, he didn’t have room to breathe, let alone think. 

Eventually, his luck ran out.

He could feel the blade slicing into his unguarded side, skating over ribs and leaving a heavy gash in his flesh. Almost at once, the blood rose up to fill the fresh injury, and his vision momentarily blurred as pain assaulted his senses. Stymying the panic through sheer force of will, Linhardt swung his arm around and cast another bolt of Nosferatu in the direction the attack had come from.

Thankfully, it connected. A second later his skin was reknitting itself as holy light surged from his hands and through his body. Still, the pain was there, and the sight of his own blood mixing with the blood of the bandits in the puddles on the ground left his stomach rolling.

But there wasn’t time to think about it. Instead he focused on the fight, on the swings of weapons around him, and the way his attackers swarmed the dias. Another blow landed on his shoulder, this one from a gauntleted fist. A second later he was ducking his head as an arrow wizzed over him, its whistle muted by the heavy downpour.

Even as he threw back two quick bursts of wind, Linhardt knew this couldn’t go on forever. Already he could feel his body slowing down, feel more blows and slashes landing on his flesh. No matter how much healing energy he gleaned from his own attacks, the brutality of those around him outmatched the bishop handily. Everything  _ hurt, _ but there was no escape, there was only more rain, and the flashing of blades.

The broad side of an ax slammed into his stomach, throwing him back against the pillar with a sharp crack. As stars spun in his vision, Linhardt narrowly rolled to the side to avoid the sword that came swiftly to impale him. Lifting his hands, he wildly wove another spell and watched as another bandit dropped. How many had he killed now? Five? Seven? Not nearly enough.

Another arrow sailed past him and the man grit his teeth as he honed in on the source of the projectile and sent a gout of fire hurtling that direction. The spell was almost entirely extinguished before it ever reached its target.

_ This is it, _ Linhardt realized, as his bleeding body was battered to the side by a swipe of a lance.  _ I’m going to die here. Hubert was right. _

Right about what, the bishop wasn’t sure anymore.

Closing his eyes as another bolt of lighting tore through the sky, Linhardt reflected that just giving up was probably easier, and much less painful. At least it’d be over sooner. And if he was being honest with himself, he was  _ so tired. _

Abruptly, a scream wrent the air.

Eyes flying back open, instincts overcoming the desire to simply  _ give in, _ Linhardt readied another spell, half expecting to find a demonic beast shadowing the horizon, just as Hubert had suggested there would be. It would have been a fitting end to a miserable day, after all, and the universe seemed bent on making his trip to the grave as painful as possible.

But it wasn’t. Instead, Linhardt watched in vacant surprise as a pool of darkness opened up beneath one of the bandits before wild, shrieking spirits launched up from the ground and engulfed him, tearing away at his very being. Shocked, unsure what was going on, the bishop could only stare in slack-jawed wonder as the bandits scattered, revealing the caster of the spell.

Hubert’s hair was plastered to his pale face, sticking to hollow cheeks and following the curve of his nose. Uniform clinging to his frame, gloved hands raised and wreathed in dark magic, the man stood before the raised dias. His feet were planted in the mud firmly, and there was a scowl on his face that bore no argument or resistance.

His pale green eyes were fixed on Linhardt, and they burned with a dark intensity the likes of which the young bishop had never seen before. 

As all of his attention suddenly honed in on the other man, Linhardt had to remind himself to breathe.

“Another one of you?” one of the bandits demanded, voice an angered growl.

“Indeed,” Hubert responded darkly, his scowl slowly giving way to a thin, cruel smile. “If you wish to live, I’d advise you to run now.”

When he said it, Linhardt found himself thinking distantly, it sounded  _ much _ more threatening.

From somewhere in the group, the bandit captain let out an angered growl of, “No matter, we’ll just kill you both.” Instantly, someone lunged, an arrow was fired in Linhardt’s direction, and in a rush combat began again.

Though his body was still at its limit, and his injuries were flaring up with pain, the bishop pushed on, casting with as much competence as he could muster. Before him, he could see Hubert’s magic roiling up and over the bandits, slowing them and forcing some semblance of order onto the combat. The mage’s power pulsed around the dias as he advanced, pushing through their enemies to get to Linhardt, striking anyone down who would stop him.

Noticing the blade that was headed for Hubert’s back, the bishop let a slicing blast of wind careen through the air, knocking the attacker away. At the same time, he felt the air beside him grow unnaturally cold as the deathly chill of Miasma closed around the lancer coming for his previously injured side. 

For a moment, there was a lull in the battle, and Linhardt called out, “Fancy seeing you here!”

All he got in response was a snarl of, “I’ll deal with  _ you _ later.”

Setting themselves back to back, to better protect themselves, the bishop’s mind focused on the situation. Suddenly, it all seemed rather easy. Though he was bleeding, and had long since run out of the magic required to fuel his Nosferatu, he felt more in control, like he could handle what was being thrown at him with the dark mage at his side.

Hubert, for his part, cut down enemies without batting an eye. Though now really wasn’t the time to admire the other’s spell casting, the man couldn’t help the awe that rose in his throat as purple energy swirled around his rescuer, swarming up his arm and adding to the frightening picture of his gaunt face and burning eyes.

Where there had once been a crowd of attackers, within minutes, Linhardt could count them on one hand. It wasn’t an easy fight by any stretch of the imagination, but when he stepped back, it wasn’t the cold stone of the pillar behind him, but the reassuringly solid warmth of another person. As his next Slicing Gale cut through the archer, sending his body tumbling backwards and into the squelching mud, the bishop managed a grim smile.

He hated this, but he would have hated dying even more.

Finally, the only one left standing was the bandit captain. There were holes in his leather armor, caused by Hubert’s last Miasma, and half of his face was scorched, likely thanks to one of Linhardt’s stray fire spells. For a moment, he looked like he was going to continue to fight. But then he took stock of the situation, realized his friends were dead, and gave in. With a grunt of anger, he turned tail, and started running.

Without batting an eye, Hubert raised one gloved hand. There was a brief flash of purple, and a choked scream. By the time the next roll of thunder echoed overhead, the man was dead.

For a moment, they just stood there, breathing heavily, accepting the fact that they were alive, and everyone around them wasn’t. To Linhardt, it was a horrifying thought, as it always had been. He couldn’t imagine what was going on inside Hubert’s mind.

Perhaps nothing, the man was startlingly callous when he chose to be.

Suddenly aware of how hurt he was, Linhardt stumbled away from the mage, hands going to clutch at the worst of his injuries. There was blood between his fingers, and even the heavy rain wasn’t enough to wash it away entirely. Puffing out a heavy, labored breath, the man wobbled back over to the pillar before slumping against it, struggling as he did so to stay on his feet.

“I… Didn’t expect anyone to show up,” he mumbled, his vision blurring as rain continued to stream into his eyes. It might have also had something to do with all the blood pooling on the ground and not running through his body… “Then again, you’ve always been rather unexpected.”

Legs finally giving out, Linhardt folded to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. As more cold water met his face, that and unforgiving stone, he let out a groan. “I wish I’d… at least brought a vullenary. But of course that would have been planning for something like this to happen. Which I most definitely was  _ not.” _

“You’re a damned  _ fool.” _ Unsurprised by the anger in Hubert’s voice, Linhardt managed a bitter smile, one tinged with blood and all manner of things he didn’t want to think about. It was funny, even after being saved by the man, he still got the feeling that the mage would leave him here for dead if given half the chance.  _ Admittedly, I’ve suggested I’d do the same at least once... _

Certainly he sounded angry enough to do it, and really, Linhardt wouldn’t have been able to begrudge him. He was still trying to cope with the shock that Hubert was here at all. If he left, at least things would make a little more sense.

“I admit, this isn’t one of my better days,” the bishop commented lightly, grunting as he struggled to sit up, using the pillar beside him as support. His eyes slid closed as he moved, in a vain attempt to keep the rain from getting in them. It didn’t make the pain any more bearable, all it did was bring the sounds around him into sharper focus.

The rumble of thunder. The smatter of rain smacking the stone dias. The rustling of the trees nearby as wind whistled through them.

The heavy, shuddering breaths of the furious man standing over him.

“You absolute, incorrigible, careless, goddess-forsaken  _ fool.” _

Unexpectedly, there was the sound of someone crouching beside him, and Linhardt almost jumped when he felt warm, long fingered hands close over him, one on his shoulder, the other grabbing for his arm. Cracking an eyelid, Linhardt found himself staring at the tightly fastened collar of Hubert’s uniform as the other leaned over his prone form.

“I can’t believe you,” he was muttering, ire bathing his words. “I cannot  _ believe _ you thought it was a wise idea to run off where you couldn’t be found, then have the audacity to almost die to a pack of roving bandits.” Despite the anger in his tone, his hands were gentle, and Linhardt didn’t complain as he was pulled halfway into Hubert’s lap.

“Yes, I’m sure you would just love to give me an earful,” the bishop agreed, holding back a cough. His voice was faint, even to his own ears.  _ Just how injured am I? _ It would be a truly cruel twist of fate to have been rescued by Hubert, only to die in the man’s arms in the aftermath.  _ A shame faith magic doesn’t work on oneself… _ Disinterested in watching the world go dark, Linhardt preemptively closed his eyes and settled back against the other’s knees.

It wasn’t the best way to go out, but it was better than being alone. At least he’d die knowing that despite Hubert’s abrasive manner and cutting words, he’d still cared enough to come after him.

Unexpectedly, a rush of warmth cut through the chill of the rain. As it washed over Linhardt in waves, the man became gradually aware of the pain in his body lessening as holy magic laced over his open wounds and sunk into the deep bruises that covered his form. Surprised, the bishop’s eyes flew open, and he stared up at Hubert in amazement as the realization that it was the mage casting the healing spell clicked into place.

As the pale bluish white light faded from around him, Linhardt blinked repeatedly, his lips parting slightly in uninhibited shock. “I didn’t realize you could do that,” he muttered, lifting a brow, tensing various muscles to gauge the remaining pain in them. “I always assumed your faith in the goddess could be fit into a teacup.”

“It might be a faith spell, but they never specified  _ what _ it required faith in,” the dark mage muttered, the scowl still imprinted on his features growing more pronounced.

Briefly, he considered Hubert’s statement. It was hard to imagine the man having faith in anything, and it left the bishop with more questions than answers.  _ I find it hard to believe he can use his faith in Edelgard to channel magic… _ “Ah, well,” he said, quickly putting an end to that unpleasant line of reasoning. “You’ll have to tell me more some time.”

A yawn built in his chest and threatened to escape him. Almost dying, it turned out, was exhausting.

Unfortunately, they were still stuck in a thunderstorm, one which seemed to be in the process of getting worse. Despite the warm, solid presence under his head and back that invited rolling over and passing out, this was hardly the time to sleep.

Taking a gander at the endless expanse of thick, heavy clouds, Linhardt began to comment on how they’d be lucky if they weren’t flooded, when he glanced back at Hubert, and fully realized their position. He was still lying sprawled out across the other man’s lap. While dying, this had been fine, but now that he was alive…  _ Best to move before I do something else I’ll regret. _

Quickly, more quickly than he should have considering the amount of blood he’d lost, Linhardt lurched upright and away from the dark mage, hand already searching for the nearby pillar to give himself some support. “What are you doing?” Hubert snapped, his tone laced with irritation as he shifted to his feet.

“Moving,” Linhardt replied blandly, staggering upright and giving himself a moment to lean heavily against the stone pillar. “After all, this rain is quite unpleasant. I think it’d be best if we went back to the- o _ h goddess-” _ His words stuttered to a halt as he tried to take a step forward and almost face planted in the water once more.

Miraculously, an arm looped around his waist before he completely lost his balance, and Linhardt let out the breath he’d been holding as Hubert set him back on his feet. “We’ll have to take shelter nearby and wait out the storm,” the mage said decisively, clicking his tongue in apparent distaste as he glared up at the lightning-laced thunder clouds. “It’s too far to the monastery.” 

“You had no trouble getting here in the rain,” Linhardt argued, still trying to gather his bearings and stand on his own two feet. Almost like he didn’t trust the Bishop to stay upright, Hubert kept an arm clamped around his side, propping him up as the slight man swayed and struggled to gather his remaining strength. “I’m sure we could make it back.”

Privately, he agreed with Hubert. Every part of him ached, and even now, his limbs threatened to fail him. The tall mage seemed to know this, because he hardly allowed Linhardt to finish before he was cutting in. “That is different. You’re in no condition to make that trip, and I am hardly of a mind to  _ carry _ you back.”

“You could always leave me here,” Linhardt suggested, even as Hubert started to move, taking the steps down from the dias two at a time. Clamped to the mage’s side as he was, the man was forced to keep up, for fear of being dragged along forcefully if he didn’t. “I promise I won’t tell  _ anyone _ that you did.”

“I have heard enough drivel from you today to last a lifetime,” was the curt reply.

As he was pulled through the sticky mud, past the fallen corpses of the bandits and their scattered weaponry, Linhardt decidedly shut up. If it wasn’t for Hubert, that would have been his fate. At that moment, he was hardly in a position to argue. Still, questions spun in his head, and seeing as fixating on them kept him awake and alert, he was inclined to turn them over and over again in his mind.

For instance, why was Hubert here? When he’d initially arrived and joined the fray, Linhardt had been too grateful to argue, but now that he had time to think, the oddity of it struck him hard. There was no reason for the other to go looking for him, it seemed improbable to the point of being humorous. 

For some reason, Hubert von Vestra of all people had braved the thunderstorm to inadvertently make it just in time to save Linhardt’s life.

Another matter, why had he done so in such a clearly unprepared manner? It was as if he hadn’t thought through the whole rain issue, he’d just… Gone after him. For someone as calculated as Hubert, it felt improper, like he was acting out of character. On one hand, who was Linhardt to tell the man what he could and couldn’t do. On the other...

Furrowing his brows as he mulled over the issue, the bishop almost tripped over his own feet as Hubert pulled him up the doorstop of a building. Coming back to the present, the man glanced over the largely unused building they used to store training weapons and archery supplies in when they weren’t being used. Until that moment, Linhardt had never had a reason to enter the building, but considering the downpour the heavens were currently bucketting over them, he was grateful it was there.

For a moment, Hubert fiddled in frustration with the doorknob, before letting out a grunt pulling something from a pocket. A moment later, the door swung open, and Linhardt was unceremoniously dumped onto the wooden floor.

Stumbling a bit, just catching himself before he fell once more, the sodden bishop took a moment to run fingers through his dripping hair before letting out a small puff of amusement. “I didn’t realize they left this place open.”

“They don’t,” Hubert responded shortly, shutting the door tight behind them.

The building was all one big room, more of a storehouse than anything else. But it was dry, and that was good enough for the time being. Wearily, he took stock of what it contained. There were several tables, a pile of empty sacks, several bales of molding hay, and numerous training targets hung from the walls. Glancing over the abandoned training bows and quivers full of arrows with disinterest, Linhardt soon spotted several wooden chairs gathered around a small hearth, and smiled tiredly. 

There was tension in the room, mostly emanating from Hubert, and he suspected that he’d have to deal with that eventually, but for now, he needed to sit down before he fell over.

With clumsy, numb fingers, Linhardt tugged at the laces of his water-filled boots. He could see the blood caked into them, despite the rain they’d trudged through. A wave of sickness attempted to rise up in his stomach, but he resolutely tamped it down and simply pulled off the shoes. If he was actually going to throw up as a result of all this blood, he should have done it earlier.

Now, there were other things to focus on. Hopefully, a nap to catch before the storm let up… Better than sitting in awkward silence with Hubert, he reasoned.

Dumping a small river out of each of his boots, Linhardt gave a soft huff of bitter laughter.  _ Ugh, I don’t even know what happened to my books. There’s no way they’re going to survive that storm. Wonderful… _ As his thoughts wandered, he glanced up and watched Hubert from the corner of his eye. The man was still standing by the door, stiff as a board, an unreadable expression stretched over his face. Part of him wanted to break the silence, the rest of him was a little smarter and just straightened, making for the hearth and chairs. 

Flicking a tired hand in a loose, but passable semblance of a fire rune, the bishop sent a gout of flame into the dead fireplace, lighting the charred logs there easily. “You know,” he said, wobbling forward and settling into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. “All of that fighting was quite exhausting, I could really just fall asleep right-”

“What the hell were you _ thinking?” _

Wincing slightly at the tightly controlled rage bubbling just beyond Hubert’s words, Linhardt attempted to feign composure. “I was thinking that I’d enjoy the sunshine this morning and read. I assure you, Hubert, I didn’t actively go looking for trouble.”

“You-” A shuddering breath. “I believe I informed you it was foolish and ill-thought out idea before you left.”

Oh goddess, were they really going to have this fight right now? He was too tired for this.

Waving a dismissive hand, Linhardt let heavy eyes slip closed as he muttered, “I’m sure I inconvenienced you terribly." It was so much easier to just go along with it than actively disagree with the irritated mage. "Apologies that you had to take time out of your busy day to rescue me. I’m sure that time could have been better spent  _ serving Lady Edelgard _ or whatever else it is you do. Poisoning people maybe. Leaning over people’s shoulders while they try to study...”

“I do not-!” Hubert instantly began to protest, only to cut himself short so he could hiss, “You almost  _ died.” _

“Yes,” Linhardt agreed, shifting uncomfortably in his wet clothing.  _ Ugh, I think I’m going to need a new uniform after this. _ “I’m sure you’re very disappointed that I survived.” Nevermind that it had been Hubert’s light magic that had healed him, it was much easier to needle the taciturn raven than consider the possible implications of his own leaping pulse rate.

Especially because getting under Hubert’s skin always worked so well.

Disgusted, Hubert made a sound low in his throat that echoed somewhere at the base of Linhardt’s neck. “You are _ infuriating.” _ There was the sound of footsteps, ones that drew closer to the tense bishop. “I should have left you be cut apart by those thieves.”

_ Of course. He’s unbelievably predictable for someone who prides themselves on being mysterious. _ Hubert had never been good at hiding when he disliked someone, after all, and currently the air between them was thick with waves of displeasure. “You  _ should _ have left me,” Linhardt agreed lightly, ignoring the bitterness that rose up in his gut as he spoke. “I’m sure you of all people would have enjoyed watching my  _ inattentiveness _ finally catch up with me.”

Hubert didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Instead he stepped closer. Cracking open a heavy, sapphire eye, Linhardt gazed up at the imposing figure of the dark mage. Even soaking wet, muddy and battered, he was intimidating. Recalling easily how he’d looked across the battlefield, wreathed in power and dripping with anger, Linhardt had to suppress a rueful smile.

Yes, that was an image that would be with him for a long while.

Hubert, after all, was the kind of presence that was hard to ignore, at least to Linhardt. He loomed, and was always there, whether you wanted him to be or not. Oh, he’d have been quick to deny it, after all, among his many classmates, Hubert was certainly the most outwardly unpleasant. But Linhardt was no fool, no matter what the mage said. And he had a personal policy against lying to himself, not least because of how much effort it took.

Like this, trapped in a room with only a frustrated Hubert as company, the bishop found his throat growing tight as his nerves buzzed.

“Had you not been so quick to disregard my advice,” the man began, a manic smile forming between his eyebrows and across his lips. “This wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

He had a point, one Linhardt couldn’t argue with. So instead, the man simply pushed wet emerald hair out of his eyes and asked, “Why did you come after me, Hubert?”

For a moment, the other was silent, as though he hadn’t fully contemplated that matter himself. Which was an answer in and of itself.  _ So he did run after me without thinking? Why would he do that? Why would someone who clearly dislikes me go out of his way to make sure I was safe? _

“I cannot in good conscience let you die,” huffed the man at last, crossing his arms defensively.

Letting out a yawn that was swiftly followed by a tired sigh, Linhardt got to his feet, shifting the chair backwards so he wasn’t so unbearably close to the taller man. “I’m certain you don’t have a conscience in the first place, good or otherwise, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why on earth would  _ you _ of all people chase after me? I mean, I’d understand it if it was Caspar, he enjoys doing stupid things, or even the Professor, if they thought I was in trouble I suppose, but why you?”

Stiffening, just as he had the last time Linhardt had accused the man of following him, Hubert grit his teeth and growled, “There was hardly time for me to alert the people you would have  _ rather _ had come after you. I apologize that my help was not to your  _ tastes.” _

_ Of course, he completely misses the point… _ “You’re dodging my question,” Linhardt hummed, turning away from Hubert as he did so. It was much easier to keep his voice airy if he wasn’t looking at the man, and it was  _ much _ easier to hide the wince as his side twinged in pain. Healing magic could only do so much, after all.

“I assure you, I am not-”

“No one told you I was in danger,” he pointed out, slicing through Hubert’s words without thought, furrowing his own brows as he did so. “You couldn’t have possibly known that I’d run into bandits, and it was raining! You look like a drowned rat when you’re wet, and it’s terribly inconvenient to come out all this way. No one said you were obligated to look after me, so-” Shaking his head, Linhardt finished with, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you actually  _ quibbling _ with me over  _ why I came to your aid?” _ Hubert asked incredulously, advancing on the bishop as he spoke. “Would you rather I had left you to- To simply die alone? You never struck me as the self-destructive type.”

“I’m not,” Linhardt agreed, turning so he could once again face Hubert. As he stepped backwards, his spine connected with the edge of a table. Defiantly tipping his chin up, he flatly said, “I just want to know why you did it.”

For a moment, it looked like the dark mage would fight him further on the matter, but surprisingly, he relented. Pushing a gloved hand through tangled hair, Hubert muttered, “I... Was the only one who knew where you were, and it looked to be a bad storm. I couldn’t simply-”

“It was a bit of rain,” Linhardt argued, almost like he wanted to hurt himself, push Hubert’s buttons until the man revealed the cold, indiferent truth behind his rescue. “For all you knew, I was fine.”

“If it was just a bit of rain,” Hubert snapped, his voice rising as he surged closer, hardly giving the bishop room to breathe. “Then you would have been back sooner! But you weren’t, and I wasn’t going to look all over the monastery just so I could send someone you prefered over me to make sure you weren’t dying somewhere.”

Shocked by the unbridled honesty in the man’s voice, Linhardt found himself saying, “I’m glad it was you.”

His heart leapt into his throat at the momentary flicker of surprise in Hubert’s eyes.

_ Probably not the best choice of words… _

“After all,” he continued, attempting to cover over his mistake. “I’ve saved your life before, which means you owed me. Now we’re even.”

Losing the brief glimmer that had lit up there, Hubert’s eyes went unbearably dark, and Linhardt felt the air leave his lungs in a  _ whoosh _ as the Mage’s hand came down hard on the table behind him _. _ “You think I did this  _ because I owed you?” _ he growled.

Suddenly, he was looming over the bishop, his face contorted in an unknown emotion as he stared down at the smaller man. “You think I went out in this weather, with only a vague idea of where you were, when I could have been actually attending a lecture or studying or  _ literally anything else _ because I  _ owed you?” _

“You’re right,” Linhardt said, his voice faint as his heart pounded in his ears. “Clearly, it was out of spite.”

“For  _ once _ in your life,” Hubert snapped as his free hand fisted in the collar of Linhardt’s uniform. “Consider  _ thinking  _ before you speak.”

Then his mouth crashed into Linhardt’s with the force of a hurricane, and the bishop was in little position to do anything but submit. 

The room around him faded as his lips were assaulted by the taller man, everything became chapped lips and the hand moving to his hip and the involuntary gasp that escaped his throat. There wasn’t time to think, even less to question what the hell was going on. All that registered was the sloppy clacking of teeth hitting teeth, and Hubert’s wet hair sticking to his forehead.

It was just as bitter as he’d imagined it would be, like cinnamon, coffee and blood.

A second later he was pushing the man as far back as the fist in his collar would allow as he struggled to breathe properly. “What was that?” he managed, cheeks flushed and hands trembling slightly where they pressed against Hubert’s chest. His head was still spinning, trying desperately to keep up with his present circumstances. “What are you-”

“It would be better for you to shut your mouth.”

There was nothing gentle about the way he was shoved into the table as Hubert claimed his mouth once more. Linhardt had to stifle a whimper as a knee pushed up between his legs and his spine was bent backwards by the awkward angle he was being held at. It exacerbated the pain of his freshly healed injuries, but he hardly cared to complain, he just bit at the mage’s bottom lip before using Hubert’s surprised reaction as an excuse to slip his tongue in between thin lips.

Because despite the  _ numerous _ reservations he had, he wanted this, and he wasn’t going to let an opportunity go to waste if it happened to be the only one he got.

The force of it was overwhelming. Head spinning, Linhardt scrambled to gain purchase on Hubert’s wet uniform before giving up and digging blunt nails into his shoulder. Behind him, the table’s edge pressed painfully into his spine, but there was nowhere for him to go. He was entirely boxed in by the man hovering over him, and if he was honest, he wouldn’t have tried to escape even if given the chance.

It was so much easier to just surrender, fall into the way Hubert’s lips moved hungrily against his own, and the feeling of a gloved hand lifting to jerkily carass one of his cheeks before settling in his hair. Pushing himself further into the mage, despite the wet clamminess of their uniforms, Linhardt released a hitching breath as the fingers in his hair tightened and pulled. After everything he’d been through that day, this distraction was a good one, something that pushed the looming presence of death out of his mind.

Their kissing became less coherent, nothing more than tangled tongues and stuttered, heavy panting. Linhardt’s head spun from lack of oxygen, but he didn’t dare pull away, in case he broke whatever momentary bubble they’d found themselves in. Yes they were both cold, wet, and tired, but he was far past caring.

Abruptly, the hand in his hair yanked him back, pulling them apart. Staring up at Hubert, to the blush that had risen on high sallow cheeks, and the puffy red mark the bishop had left on his bottom lip, he felt a bolt of heat lick down his spine and settle somewhere under his navel. Flicking a quick tongue over his own slightly swollen lips, Linhardt drew his eyes up to meet the mage’s and was somehow unsurprised to find nothing but uncertainty there.

“I-  _ Ah, _ that was rather…” Struggling to put together a coherent thought, Hubert drew in a shuddering breath, and relaxed the iron grip in the slighter male’s hair. 

“Yes, it was,” Linhardt agreed softly, his voice faint as he wondered if he should pull away. For a moment, the dark mage looked like he wanted to say more, but just as quickly, his expression hardened, closing the other man out. 

Jaw tightening, Hubert flicked his eyes away. “That was highly… I should not have done that.” Though his insides grew undeniably tight as the dark mage started to draw back, Linhardt grit his teeth and grabbed for the other, catching him by the tassel of his collar. The moment his fingers found purchase, the taller man stopped moving, going entirely still as he stared at the bishop with those piercing green eyes.

“Why? Linhardt asked, the tightness in his tone belying the roiling emotions crawling under his skin. “Because you regret it? Or is it perhaps because you truly can’t stand being in my presence?”  _ Is it just that you wish I was someone else?  _ his mind supplied, bitterly.

“For someone so intelligent, it seems you take pleasure in being deliberately obtuse,” Hubert growled, lips lifting in a snarl. Still, he didn’t move away, and he didn’t confirm either of the bishop’s guesses. If anything, he drew closer once more, hot heavy breath spilling over Linhardt’s chilled skin.

“Then tell me what it is,” the man suggested, tilting his head back, baring the damp collar of his ripped uniform. There was undeniable hunger in the look Hubert was giving him, and it sent another thrill of feeling down his spine where it ultimately settled between his hips.

“Are you forgetting that you were an inch away from death only a few minutes ago?” the mage demanded, though the control over his voice was slipping. The resistance he was putting forward was a token one, almost like he was giving them both one last chance to back out. But Linhardt didn’t move, he just maintained eye-contact and pulled a slight, teasing smile onto his face.

“All the more reason to do this now.”

Those words broke the string holding the dark mage back. 

Shifting the hand still in the bishop’s hair, Hubert flexed his fingers experimentally before tightening them, provoking a soft, needy sound from Linhardt. Vision going out of focus, the man stared up the dark ceiling, pupils blown wide with anticipation and a blush spreading past his cheeks and down his pale throat. Tentatively, much more carefully than before, the mage leaned in and brushed a faint kiss over the delicate male’s parted lips. After how rough he’d been previously, this gentleness left Linhardt’s chest tight and his breath stuck somewhere in his throat. 

_ You know, I never asked him  _ why _ he’s doing this, _ he thought distantly, as the hand on his hip shifted to the small of his back and he was pulled against Hubert’s lean frame.  _ Then again, I probably wouldn’t much like the answer. _

Smothering the thought, the bishop lifted thin, cold fingers and tangled them in Hubert’s damp, dark locks. Their lips shifted against each other, tongues tangling tentatively at first, before becoming more heated and urgent. Insistently, Linhardt tugged the man closer, seaking the warmth of another body, and chasing the shudder that rolled down Hubert’s back.

The momentary softness fell apart as their movements became desperate once again. Fingers found the tiny clasp of Linhardt’s collar and pulled. The chill of the room left him gasping when the mage yanked the buttons apart. As lips and teeth found the tender skin of his throat, it was all he could do to swallow the whimper that built up in his chest. Hubert’s teeth were just short of painful where they latched onto his skin, tongue swiping over flesh hungrily, like he couldn’t get enough of the smaller male.

No doubt there would be marks there tomorrow, but they would be lost to the rest of the heavy bruises covering the bishop’s body.

Outside, there was a particularly large crash of thunder, and the windows of the small shack shivered, rattling in their frames. Neither man seemed to notice.

More buttons popped open. Linhardt found himself fumbling to undo Hubert’s tight collar, wanting to touch while the situation allowed. The mage’s response was to shove his hands away and pin him against the table once more.

“H-h _ hah.  _ So rude,” Linhardt managed between heavy breaths. Hubert’s only response was a rumble deep in his throat and another bruising bite on the slight man’s collarbone. Every mark he left had Linhardt shuddering, fighting to keep his voice under control even though there wasn’t a chance anyone could hear them. 

Hubert’s mouth felt like fire as it roved over cold skin, his tongue finding one of the freshly healed wounds left behind by a sword and laving over it ravenously. There was little pain, only tender flesh and sensitive nerves, which sang under the attention. Linhardt was sure his skin was still bloody, dirty from the fight, but if Hubert minded, he gave no indication.

As the mage’s mouth found a particularly sensitive spot, Linhardt let out a surprised cry as pleasure raced down his spine. Straining against the grip on his wrists, the bishop bucked into the knee between his legs, and felt rather than heard the stuttered moan that escaped his mouth.

“O-oh  _ goddess~!” _

Clearly affected by the sound, Hubert pressed closer and released a soft groan that went straight to Linhardt’s swiftly swelling cock. The situation was quickly tumbling out of hand, but he had no desire to stop it.

His body was aching for more, the mage above him wasn’t saying no.

Releasing one of his hands, Hubert’s fingers found Linhardt’s hip once more and gripped it tightly with a pressure just short of bruising. Before the smaller man could react, the mage dragged their groins together sharply, revealing the telltale bulge under Hubert’s belt. The contact sent sparks across his vision, and a stammered, “Nngh… Hu-  _ Hhng,” _ escaped his bruised mouth.

Rutting up against the other man, relishing the shiver that wracked through him, Linhardt did his best to bury his whimpers in another kiss. It was sloppy, missing more than it connected, but it felt good to drag Hubert closer regardless. Despite the light of the fire behind them, both of them were shivering, though whether that was from pleasure, cold or something else, the young bishop wasn’t sure anymore.

Utilizing his free hand at last, Linhardt reached down between them and palmed Hubert purposefully, earning himself a groan and a heavy,  _ “F-fuck,” _ against his lips. At the intoxicating sound, the man smirked messily, biting at his bottom lip. Before he could repeat the motion, his wrist was seized once more and the mage ground down on him more firmly, driving him backwards into the table.

“A-ahh- Yes~” Linhardt panted, releasing his lip, unable to help himself. “More… L-like that,  _ please.” _ His face flushed as the words escaped him, they sounded needy and desperate, even to his own ears. But they only seemed to spur the other on further.

Hubert acquiesced to his begging without question, more than eager to roll their hips together, sending sparks of heady heat rushing through Linhardt’s numb limbs. There were still too many layers of clothing between them, but the friction of their wet uniforms was heady. Frustrated, wanting to touch the man moving over him, Linhardt tugged at his wrists, bucking harder against the mage and moaning openly. Even with the rain, the sound echoed slightly in the empty room.

“You are-  _ hhh- _ Incredibly impatient,” Hubert huffed, releasing Linhardt’s hands once more.

Letting out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, Linhardt returned, “And  _ you _ are incredibly s-sl-  _ oohh~” _ His words were cut off as hands found his belt and began removing it with surprising deftness. Before it even hit the floor, Hubert was already pulling at his pants, unbuttoning them before shifting damp cloth over cold thighs. Everything stuck stubbornly together, and the smaller man couldn’t help but gasp as his underclothes were pulled free with the rest of it, leaving him bared.

He wanted to press himself against Hubert once more, but the searing gaze that raked over him held him in place.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to stop complaining,” the dark mage suggested, a smirk pulling up over thin lips. 

“Then maybe you should- m-m—  _ Hha hh… Goddess, yes.” _ Whatever he’d been about to say swiftly devolved into incoherency as Hubert wrapped one gloved hand around his erection and stroked, sending sparks of need shooting through him like lighting.

Reaching up, Linhardt desperately grabbed at the man’s uniform and clung on as his body shook and shuddered. It was at once too much feeling and not enough. He desperately wanted to feel Hubert against him, hear the other man come apart as well, but his mind was too overloaded to do more than keen softly, begging for more.

He could have easily gotten off just like this, with Hubert’s mouth on the tender skin of his throat, and the heavy smell of cinnamon surrounding him. The silk of the man’s gloves was teasingly rough against the tender skin of his cock, and with every pass over him, Linhardt shivered and moaned. He could feel the other’s clothed erection grinding against his hip, and he couldn’t resist pushing against it, relishing the stuttered curse that escaped Hubert’s mouth when he did.

As impatient as he’d been accused of being, the young bishop managed to pull himself together enough to fumble with the buckle of Hubert's belt, wanting more. He half expected to be pushed away again, but instead, all he earned himself was a murmured chuckle against his jaw. Shivering helplessly at the sound, Linhardt finally managed to undo the belt and scrambled to move damp linnen out of his way.

Abruptly, the hand on his cock slowed, and he let out a pathetic whine as the sensations became nearly torturous. "Do you want me, Linhardt?" breathed Hubert, his tone teasing but his question earnest.

Sensing this, the man nodded fervently, then when the pace of Hubert's finger's didn't speed back up, he softly whispered, "Y-yes, I... I want you Hubert. Please, I  _ -nghh need- _ "

Without warning, the mage pulled back entirely, and Linhardt instinctively let out an irritated whine. Opening unfocused eyes, the bishop watched with shuddering breaths as Hubert deliberately pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time. Catching Linhardt’s gaze, the man smirked, the green of his eyes smoldering promisingly as he raked them over the smaller male.

“You look like a mess,” he murmured, growing confidence leaving his voice surprisingly steady, if a little hoarse.

Swallowing thickly, Linhardt wet his lips with a quick tongue before responding, “A-and who’s fault is that?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Hubert hummed, one of his hands lighting upon a soft cheek and tracing Linhardt’s jawline. “I intend to take  _ full _ responsibility.” Leaning into the touch, the bishop fluttered heavy lashes and whimpered as he was pulled up and onto the table, leaving him to sit on its cold surface. As he was fully divested of what remained of his pants, he shivered and pulled his knees together with a snap, feeling exposed.

Staring down at Linhardt, at his heaving chest and the flush that was slowly working it’s way down his neck and over the rest of his pale skin, Hubert made a sound deep in his throat. The look in his eyes seemed to say  _ Who do you think you’re hiding from? _ Turning away from the other man, embarrassment laced with excitement spilling through his veins, he slowly shifted himself more fully onto the table before gripping the wood tightly and spreading his legs.

“Are you always this willing?” Hubert asked, drawing the corner of one lip into his mouth as his gaze skated down the slighter male, lingering on the marks he’d left and the leaking erection that bobbed between creamy thighs.

The words,  _ Not usually,  _ and  _ Wouldn’t you like to know _ battled to escape Linhardt, but he couldn’t get his throat to work well enough to voice either. Instead he lifted one hand and reached for Hubert, begging silently for the man to come closer.

Clicking his tongue, the mage ignored his request, instead lifting long fingered hands to his collar and slowly undoing the tight clasp. Deliberately, he continued onto the buttons, popping them open one at a time. Though he didn’t touch his undershirt, usually white, now stained with all manner of unmentionable things from the rain outside, it still left Linhardt’s head spinning. He’d always loved how uptight and proper Hubert tended to be, and it tickled a distant part of his brain to know those traits extended even to something like this.

As he watched, Linhardt was tempted to take himself in hand and finish what Hubert had started, but if the looks the mage kept casting in his direction were any indication, the man had plans for him already.

Folding his coat carefully, Hubert loosened the first few buttons of his shirt before moving back to Linhardt. His sallow cheeks were flushed as his hands slowly reached out and smoothed along the bishop’s thighs, drawing them further apart as he rubbed absent circles into tender flesh. 

A small whimper escaped Linhardt’s lips as the man’s fingers dipped lower, lightly brushing against his cock before moving back to his thighs. He was about to begin begging for more, until his mouth was once again claimed by Hubert.

It was instantly obvious how much the other man was affected. Linhardt could feel his heart thumping as their chests pressed together, and taste the desire heavy on the other’s tongue. Encouraging the mage to go further, he wrapped slender legs around the other’s waist and pulled him closer, rubbing against him as he did so. The renewed contact left them both gasping, and Linhardt smirking into the kiss as one of Hubert’s hands shifted to grab his hips.

Suddenly, the man was pulling back, and before Linhardt could ask, two long fingers were prodding at his lips, requesting entrance. Shivering, the bishop wrapped his lips around pale fingertips, staring up at Hubert as he did. It was almost too easy to tease him like this, running his tongue over the digits lovingly and moaning around them like he was imagining they were something very different.

The effect it had on the mage was instantaneous, and he watched with delirious delight as the blush spread up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Enjoying the sight, Linhardt bucked against the straining bulge in Hubert’s pants, which were frustratingly still in place, and watched the hunger in the other’s eyes blaze brighter.

Almost as swiftly as they had come, Hubert pulled his now saliva coated fingers from Linhardt’s mouth. “I-” The mage’s voice came out rough, and he had to swallow thickly before attempting to speak again. “I think that’s quite enough.” With infuriating deliberacy, the hand lowered, and the bishop gasped loudly as wet digits prodded at his asshole.

“Relax,” Hubert advised, managing to pull a smirk onto his flushed face. Linhardt desperately wanted to fire back a pithy retort, but he was too preoccupied with the full body shiver that bolted through him as one long finger pushed past the first ring of muscle.

Struggling to regain his breath as the digit was pushed further, carefully massaging his sensitive walls, Linhardt puffed out a stuttered curse at the feeling. As a distraction, the mage’s other hand closed around his neglected prick, stroking him in time with his shallow thrusts. Forcing himself not to clench around Hubert so tightly, focusing instead on the pleasure clouding his mind, Linhardt leaned forward, yearning for another kiss.

It was given to him without reserve. As Hubert pushed in another finger, carefully stretching him, Linhardt found a moan struggling to work it’s way out of his throat. The number of sensations coming at him were almost too much to handle as they overloaded his brain and left him breathless. It felt so good to have the mage this close, as his long fingers pushed deeply into him and his tongue tangled with his own. He could feel a line of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth, but he lacked the mental wherewithal to care.

Two fingers became three. He could feel the burn of it work its way down his thighs and up into his stomach. Striving to keep his breathing even, Linhardt reached out and blindly fumbled with the buttons of Hubert’s pants, wanting them off. The hand around his cock stuttered for a moment as he palmed the taller male, swallowing the sound it earned him.

Both of them were a mess at this point. Linhardt was thrusting back on Hubert’s fingers while simultaneously trying to buck up into his fist. Meanwhile the mage was almost trembling as he worked Linhardt open, gasping as the other’s hands finally managed to free his leaking erection.

All the bishop managed was one quick stroke before he was being pushed back and Hubert’s hand withdrew from his ass.

Shivering with anticipation, Linhardt almost missed the sound of Hubert spitting into his palm and slicking himself as another crash of thunder echoed outside.

Gripping the table once more as the other man’s substantial cock rubbed at the cleft of his ass, Linhardt cast an almost challenging gaze at Hubert, as if daring him to drag this out any longer. Green eyes met sapphire, and the bishop tipped his chin back, smirking messily.

“What,” he panted, only just keeping the whine out of his voice. “Are you really going to make me w-  _ G-goddess~” _

Both of them trembled as Hubert pushed into Linhardt. Needy sounds spilled from the smaller male’s mouth as he was penetrated, inch by torturous inch. Even with the prep, it burned, but it was a pleasant feeling, and he relaxed into it as much as he could, wrapping his legs around Hubert’s waist in an effort to ease the process.

Head falling forward as he leaned over Linhardt, Hubert dug his fingers into the man’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises. The sight was fantastic, and the bishop intended to remember it, long after this evening was over.

Fully sheathing himself within the other man, Hubert stilled, his breathing coming in unsteady puffs. Far too impatient for how gentle the mage was trying to be, Linhardt pulled back slightly so he could jerk his hips forward, deliberately clenching around the other’s cock as he did.

The reaction was instant. Hubert’s nails dug into Linhardt’s skin and his hips snapped forward sharply. Dropping his head back, the bishop let out a delighted groan and dug his heels into the other’s back. “Ffffuuhh  _ y-yes- _ Just like that.”

Letting out a grunt, the mage complied.

The sounds that echoed through the room in between crashes of thunder were nothing short of obscene. Their movements were jerky at first, the lack of any proper lubricant and the table not making things easy, but they quickly fell into a rhythm. Linhardt clutched at the wood beneath him and dug marks into the surface with his blunt nails as Hubert thrust into him, every movement sending pleasure rocketing through his thin frame.

Both of them were already so close to the edge that their pace soon sped up. Hubert shifted his grip on Linhardt to pull the man’s legs over his shoulders. Driving into him at a new angle, the mage brushed up against something that had the green-haired man crying out and begging for more  _ please more Hubert, don’t stop, I need you- oh  _ Goddess.

Reaching between them and finding his neglected cock, Linhardt fisted it desperately, pumping it in time with the other’s powerful motions. Where the room had been far too cold before, now it was unbearably hot. His whole body flushed red with it, and his limbs trembled helplessly as stars flickered before his eyes.

“H-Hubert I-” Linhardt tried to speak but the words were ripped from him as Hubert dragged him closer and pressed a rough kiss to his mouth. It was too much, the heavy cock pounding into his ass along with his own hand stuttering over his aching erection, he couldn’t hold on any longer. With a keening moan, the man clenched around the mage and spilled over his own hand.

Hubert wasn’t far behind. Pace becoming erratic, the raven’s lips found Linhardt’s throat once more and bit down hard before burying himself deeply within the other’s velvety insides and letting go. Groaning at the sensation of being filled like this, the bishop continued to jerk his hips, riding out his own orgasm completely while the mage shuddered over him.

They stayed like that for a while, breathing heavily, gathering themselves. Hubert was the first to come out of his daze, pressing an apologetic kiss to the already bruising mark he’d left on the other’s neck. Shivering slightly, Linhardt shifted his weary body and shuddered hard when the mage finally pulled out.

“That was-” he began, voice absolutely wrecked.

“I-Indeed,” Hubert agreed, his own tone little better.

Managing a worn-out chuckle, Linhardt shifted his legs so they were no longer bent at such a sharp angle before wrapping lazy arms around the other’s shoulders. “Wonderful,” he finished, sounding something like a pleased cat.

Hubert’s response was to flush fiercely and say, “You’re a mess.”

“I’ll decide whether to blame or thank you for that later,” Linhardt teased lightly, leaning into the other’s lean frame and peaking over his shoulder at the windows. “Mmm, it’s still raining.”

“I expect it will be till morning.” It was almost funny, how mundane their conversation was. Closing his eyes, entirely content, the bishop pressed his nose into Hubert’s collar and inhaled the spicy scents that lived there.

Letting out an obvious yawn, Linhardt mumbled, “That’s alright, I could fall asleep right here.”

“You could fall asleep anywhere,” Hubert dismissed, though it wasn’t with the same ice usual. The world around him shifted as warm arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the table.

Humming, the sleepy bishop agreed, “You’re right, I can.” The floor was cold under his feet, but he didn’t complain, he just let Hubert pull him over to the small mountain of empty sack cloth and folded himself into the other’s warmth when he was encouraged to. 

“Like this,” he mumbled, smiling softly as fingers brushed through his knotted hair. “This is a good way to fall asleep.” With the fire still going in the hearth, the room was almost warm, and he was  _ incredibly _ tired.

There was no response, he was just tugged closer. Which, in his mind, was answer enough.

Without complaint, Linhardt slipped happily into sleep.

~•~

When he awoke, Hubert was already up, dressed, and ready to leave.

Blearily, Linhardt blinked heavy lids and watched absently as the other man adjusted his tight collar and stared out the window. It only took him a moment to recall what had happened the night before, and a bemused expression crossed his face as images of dark eyes and skin sliding against skin poked at his consciousness. His body was pleasently sore as he shifted, though whether that was from the sex or the battle, he couldn’t be sure. Probably, it was a bit of both.

Hubert gave no indication he’d noticed the other’s rising, he just continued to watch the earliest rays of dawn poke through the glass in contemplative silence.

Clearing his throat, which felt scratchy and abused, even now, Linhardt murmured, “Ah, I suppose the storm is finally gone.”

“It is,” Hubert agreed, turning to face him. Though his expression was typically impassible, there was a gleam in his visible eye that was softer than usual. It wasn’t much, but Linhardt hadn’t expected anything more. “I’d advise you to redress yourself. I would like to return to the monastery before too many people become concerned by our absence.”

“No one notices when  _ I _ go missing,” Linhardt pointed out, yawning sleepily as he searched for said clothes. They were folded in a neat stack beside him. A puff of amusement escaped him at the sight.

“I assure you, I noticed yesterday.”

A soft smile lifted his lips. “Hah, that you did. I should go missing more often.”

“Do not,” Hubert told him shortly, unimpressed with his attempt at humor. “I am not going to go out and fetch you every time you decide to do something stupid.”

Linhardt chuckled, but didn’t respond. Instead, he applied himself to the task of redressing himself with fingers that were much less numb now that the temperature had lifted. The fireplace he’d lit the night before was long dead, but the sun was slowly creeping over the sky, and he had a feeling by noon, it would be delightfully sunny out.

“You know, with weather like this, I almost want to-”

“Inside the monastery grounds, please,” Hubert cut in, sighing irritably. “I cannot stop you from wasting your time sleeping, but I will kill you myself if you decide to almost die again.”

“I was fine,” Linhardt dismissed, wrinkling his nose at the dirt and mud that still covered his thankfully dry uniform. “You worry too much.”

“You do not worry enough.”

Brushing off the words with a slender hand, Linhardt searched the wooden floor around him for his hair tie, not wanting to lose yet another one. Letting out a disquieted sound, he mumbled, “It must have fallen  _ somewhere, _ we weren’t throwing things around.” In response, there was a huff, followed by footsteps headed in his direction. Only looking up when Hubert loomed over him, the bishop gave a delighted smile at the sight of the silk ribbon caught between the man’s gloved fingers.

“Ah, you found it!”

“You shouldn’t be so careless with your possessions,” the dark mage said in return. Still, his hands were gentle as he knelt down and combed out the tangles in Linhardt’s emerald locks before retying the loose, white bow. When he was finished, he rose to his feet and extended a hand for the other to take.

Welcoming the help with a grateful smile, Linhardt got to his feet, swayed a bit as he recalled how to walk, then released Hubert’s thin fingers. 

Gazing up at the other for a moment, the sleepy male studied the emotions in those pale green eyes carefully, searching for discomfort, guilt… even anger. But there was nothing of the sort, only a grudging acceptance hidden behind the taciturne layers of Hubert’s expression. It wasn’t exactly a promise that things would change, or that this wasn’t a one-time thing that they both should forget, but Linhardt supposed the other wasn’t pushing him away, and that was a start.

Where it led, well, that would be a problem for later.

“We should get back,” he hummed, smiling simply before drawing back.

“Yes, indeed.”

And with that, they walked to the door of the tiny building and stepped into the morning sunshine. Not together, but certainly not apart.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any suggestions for fics of this pairing, I can and will write them. Hopefully a little more competently than this attempt. Feed my addiction, it doesn't feed itself.


End file.
